Homage To Famous Poems (What They Really Meant To Say)

Mark's Homage To Philip Larkin's ' This be The Verse'

Pond Skating With Parents

Grasp firmly their sagging shoulders,
Click fingers in front of moistening eyes.
Can they see your inner fires smoulder?
No consolation in agreeing time flies.

You effed me up make no mistake!
But we all pursue interesting lives my son!
What are these issues you wish to rake?
Take solace in the little victories won.

A comet on course for Earth’s collision,
Open doors on an express train departing,
A shipwrecked death in sight of lands contrition,
Summer’s cloudburst leaving frail petals sagging.

Birth magnetisms parallel energies, then repulsion
When current fails, ‘we’ll agree to disagree, not fight.’
To swim below the surface tension invites convulsion,
Spectrums transient wonder chosen over pure radiant light?

Tomorrow I shall deplore forced solace,
A trick of the mind, a maudlin self deceived,
Programmed never to sing a parents song.
What greater gift could they have bestowed?

We wanted more, felt too much.
Slip slide away our yearning for deep happiness,
Leaving us to skulk, alone, brooding,
In the dark winter ponds recesses.

Mark's Homage To Philip Larkin's ' This be The Verse'

Pond Skating With Parents

Grasp firmly their sagging shoulders,
Click fingers in front of moistening eyes.
Can they see your inner fires smoulder?
No consolation in agreeing time flies.

You effed me up make no mistake!
But we all pursue interesting lives my son!
What are these issues you wish to rake?
Take solace in the little victories won.

A comet on course for Earth’s collision,
Open doors on an express train departing,
A shipwrecked death in sight of lands contrition,
Summer’s cloudburst leaving frail petals sagging.

Tomorrow I shall deplore forced solace,
A trick of the mind, a maudlin self deceived,
Programmed never to sing a parents song.
What greater gift could they have bestowed?

We wanted more, felt too much.
Slip slide away our yearning for deep happiness,
Leaving us to skulk, alone, brooding,
In the dark winter ponds recesses.

Mark's Homage To Stevie Smith's 'Not Waving But Drowning'

Hope

Hope enervates,
Hope guides,
Hope heals.

Hope gives buoyancy to those striving
To rise above the storms clawing waves.

Waving not drowning,
Singing not choking,
Laughing not crying.

A Joker’s card played
To load the deck against cold fate.

Mark's Homage To W H Auden's 'Funeral Blues'

Auden's Revenge

Stop the internet browsing, hide the remote,
Give the lizard a cricket, grab the cat by its throat,
Silence the ghetto blaster with a hammer,

Look in the coffin and tell priest not to stammer.

Let graffiti artists proclaim his death on every wall,

Drop everything friends it's tome for a pub-crawl.

Tie black ribbons round the neighbourhoods' dogs,

Time to build a bonfire, I'll order the logs.

He was my North by Northeast, my South by Southwest,

My idling week and hazy, lazy Sabbath.

My elevenses', afternoon tea and late night snack,

I thought the bugger would last forever, why did he take up crack?

The new phone is not wanted now, give it to the poor,

Get rid of his stolen goods, no more trouble with the law.

Clean the bath and to charity give his clothes,

Get rid of the pictures on the wall, the ones he particularly loathed.

Mark's Homage To Rudyard Kipling's 'If'

These Kippers Whiff

If you can panic when all around are serene
Drawing attention to yourself with your big girly ways.
If you can blame others when from your shit you try to flee
While taunting others as you avert your eyes from their gaze.
If you can kick arse because you are so tired of waiting
Or being ridiculed tell men they’re liars and women mere sluts.
Or being loved accuse people of faking affection
Yet still dress like a dandy then preen and strut.

If you can bore and not make good ideas your master,
If you can howl ignoring others faint pleas for calm,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And scream like an animal being culled on a farm.
If you can remember by rote the lies you have spoken
Ignoring fine policemen and priests pleas for reconciliation.
Or watch the things others have made by you wantonly broken
Refusing to repair or pay the breakages and replace with new.

If you can keep secret proceeds from your good luck
And risk others money on the haunches of an old blind dog,
Then take comfort by rubbing their noses in their sadness
And cry like a baby when the horse you backed gets lost in fog.
If you can avoid trying your best with muscle, brain and heart,
Getting innocent mugs, without payment, to do your dirty work,
Feigning glum gratitude when others solve your problems
Remaining always self-satisfied with your fine abilities to shirk.

If you can humiliate old people by hiding their false teeth
Or pose about with lecherous intent like a common grubby tart,
Then run around places of worship poking fun at others beliefs
And in helping people less fortunate not give a flying fart.
If you can waste every God given second of time
Lazing, letching and bitching till the early dawn breaks
And keep secret till your death all your crimes copious,
Then, what is more me old son, no one will attend your wake!

Mark's Homage To Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken'

The Roundabout Less Travelled

(A channelled poem with Robert Frost)

Why go West, why go East?

Why go North and South

When one can spend a life

On the roundabout less travelled?

Shun the nodding dogs mindless distraction,

Ignore mirrors; they are for the faint of heart,

Decry satellite navigation, a sop for the truly unadventurous,

Furry dice? Save them for Monopoly with granny.

Indicate and change one’s mind?

Indicate and change lanes to confuse?

Indicate to relieve a fingers itch?

Indicate and let the world sit back and admire?

Delicious dizzy, dolly daydreams,

Crawling admiration of the views,

Pointing out the sacred roundabouts compelling features,

A Keynesian concrete cow, an enchanting gypsy caravan?

Rolled cars on verges aching to be lifted,

Pretty hardy blooming plants immune to the lead,

Mindless traffic furniture and directional aids

Leading to nowhere worth the detour.

The roundabout less travelled,

A game in the buff for lazy Sunday afternoons.

Her Majesty’s Constabulary just wave in admiration

When one’s fully immersed on God’s merry helter skelter.

Brave pilgrim, pray go take the keys from a front door hook,

Wave goodbye to family and glum pedestrian neighbours,

Launch your jalopy on to the roundabout of life.

No sleep till the bladder aches or the tyres wear thin!